


goodbye, my lover.

by amoontea



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst I guess, M/M, and also college!au, drabble??????????????, soulmate!AU, taeyong's only mentioned lmao, whew, winwin too, word vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoontea/pseuds/amoontea
Summary: ‘Remember your name: Lee Taeyong,’ it says, Dongyoung belatedly realizing that it’s not the usual handwriting that beautifies the bleeding edges of the ink.





	goodbye, my lover.

**Author's Note:**

> kek.  
> completely impulsiveasjdkasdksakd i suddenly wanted to write a dotae soulmate!au but this is the only stUFF that i could conjure at 11 pm after being stressed the f out from doing my assignments lmaooooooooooooooooooo i should stop.
> 
> and also i didnt bother to reread just becausekajslkdaksd
> 
> enjoy???????? i guess???????????? :********

It’s funny when strange and quirky occasions happen to others.

But, being on the receiving end, Kim Dongyoung couldn’t find the laughs behind them.

First of all, he’s got the _worst_ soulmate. Somehow, on daily basis, his arms were filled with frenzied scribbles of lines straight from different drama scripts—he tried searching the title of a single line once, which he figured out from a Greek drama as old as the time: ‘Antigone’ by Sophocles—but they were not the only things that fill his arms. Some immature NSFW doodles would accompany these lines, as if this person on the other end was trying to curse the hell out of those lines he wrote down, or they might _be_ trying to visualize the lines—Dongyoung wouldn’t know which one was a way more bearable reason, but having to wear long-sleeve shirts on summer days to cover them up? Not cool, dude. _Not cool_.

Second of all, this person had always (and tirelessly) tried to contact him from time to time like they were hoping that there was actually someone out there receiving their messages. They would write down to Dongyoung different statements ranging from a curt ‘I hope you’ve eaten, soulmate :)’ to a long-ass ‘wherever you are, soulmate, I will find you, and I will kiss the hell out of you. You better believe it because I’m not playing when I say this to you. If I could draw well, I would have drawn this serious expression on my face just to show it to you. (Cue the addition of a squiggly angry emoticon. A very angry one. _Cute_ ).’ Didn’t they know that Dongyoung can’t just straight up reply to them? That it sucks to be the one who’s rooted on his own feet and cannot run to meet his soulmate somewhere in the middle? Moreover, no one’s a fan of waiting, and Dongyoung is no exception.

(It was the little things, though—little things that made Dongyoung discreetly smile to himself while being reassured again and again that there _was_ someone who would accept and love him for whoever he is.)

And lastly, his soulmate’s group of friends must be comprised of jerks or something. One day, they just _had_ the audacity to draw whiskers on his soulmate’s face, which meant that Dongyoung, as the secondhand victim, had to bear having whiskers on his face for the rest of his fucking day—WHICH, mind you, also meant that he had to swallow the bile of embarrassment as he went on to wait tables on his part-time job at the nearest café. This kind of thing happened to one of his friends before—Dong Sicheng, the poor boy who had it on the day of a presentation with the worst professor from his major. Unfortunately, Sicheng looked really, _really_ cute in whiskers, and Dongyoung? Dongyoung just looked like his normal-self except with marker-drawn whiskers adorning his cheeks. It almost felt like he had an Instagram filter on whenever he looked at a mirror, but they looked awfully off. He wished he could perish.

But, hey, it’s been three weeks since any of those occurred. Nowadays, Dongyoung waits, waits, and _waits_ , and receives barely anything in return. When he looks back to those days, though, these words are close to nothing. Nothing of the sort to be counted as something he could hold onto when he needed those reassurances the most. The scribbles, these days, would contain names of 1001 different pills and when to appropriately consume them. List of diets (‘avoid eating junk food’). Schedules of medical check-ups five times a week. Therapies, therapies, and therapies. Different doctors, different therapies.

Today, he’s in the library like usual, collecting some reading materials he would need to use them as citations when suddenly, a dark letter R peeks out from the edge of his sleeve. He tilts his head and quickly rolls up his sleeve to watch a sentence slowly unravels before his eyes, silently hoping that things could finally turn back to normal. ‘Remember your name: Lee Taeyong,’ it says, Dongyoung belatedly realizing that it’s not the usual handwriting that beautifies the bleeding edges of the ink. It’s hard-hitting, to say the least, and the following realization that has just hit him like a freight train is rapidly filling him up with an overwhelming sadness.

 _He's the worst, but I have yet to prove that_.


End file.
